((Remy Kim continued from Alex In Sunderland))
It had been quite a while since he had left the Residential District, and he didn't feel well.
Oh god, he didn't feel well? That was an understatement. He felt like shit. Pure. Shit.
He slowly trudged along the path, head bowed to ground. That guy... didn't make it, did he? Once he got out of the area, he found that there was blood all over his hand and knife, with a few droplets on his shirt. So Remy had... he had killed him, didn't he?
Murderer. That was a bit harsh, was it? A bit harsh to refer to him. Remy was just defending himself, is all. That bastard was attacking him. He said he had to die, right? He wasn't a cold-blooded killer. Cold-blooded killers were like Kris, or Lombardi, or Gabriella. They weren't defending themselves, they were gleefully doing it. Just shooting at people, and killing them. Remy wasn't like them. He was one of the few sane people around. That was a fact. Josée and Cisco were probably doing god knows what, and he was sure he was still being followed. Lord knows what Death was up to.
He could remember walking past a few bodies. One of them was that Jarocki guy, right? The one who liked gory movies and hung around with that girl who also liked gory movies. He couldn't recognize any of the other bodies, nor did he wish to find out..
Remy went on, and by late afternoon had found himself at a bridge. Taking a deep breath, he placed himself down, his legs dangling off the bridge.
It was funny. Even though he was now a murderer, even though he knew he would kill again... for a few seconds, he felt a little bit like the old Remy Kim, just tired, a little dehydrated, and...
Scared.
Scared...?
His mind went back to the town. Not only was he scared back there, he was also angry. He wanted to do harm to him. Same to Cisco. In a way, this frightened him. On the other...
Well, Remy had to live. He had to live and fight. He wasn't going to be a victim. Remy was always the shy little guy, the one people would always call a "mama's boy" or a "push-over". A "doormat". A "brown-noser". He was the one who never stood up for himself.
He had to stop that. He had to defend himself. He didn't care about any of this "winning" bullshit. He cared more about living, and making sure Reika was avenged. He didn't want to win some contest that he didn't want to enter. There were many people out to get him. Even someone like Sarah could have easily lost their minds. He didn't need to join any teams, or make new friends, or... could he seek anyone out? They were going to find out he killed someone, but that was a risk. He wasn't sure if he wanted to find Sarah, Josée, or Reiko. Lord knows what would happen. Did he...? They had to live. Of course they had to live, silly Remy.
He took out his knife from his pocket again, and pressed the button, opening it. He knew he would have to use it again. So many crazy people. He shouldn't even hesitate anymore. Remy could just stab them without them noticing at all. So many people were out of it, there was no point to him trying to talk to them. They could just simply kill him and go along their way.
Even now, even after he had cleaned the blood off his hand and knife, he felt like he still had it all over. But it had to be done. No more crying and being scared. Remy was going to defend himself, even if it meant killing. After all, he was one of the few sane people around this place.
So, as far as Remy was concerned, he had killed before and felt that he should have no particular qualms about doing it again.
Simple as that.
Closing the knife and placing it back into his pocket, Remy stared down into the water.
One thing he had to remember. If a psycho sneaked up behind him and attacked him, he would kill them. If they tried to steal his things, he would kill them. If they did anything sneaky, he would kill them. Just because he felt bad about killing that guy doesn't mean that he wasn't willing to do something like that to defend himself. It just meant that he wasn't going to be another sicko.
He wasn't.
Right? Right.
Eep.
That about sums it up.
(George Leidman continued from No Crying Allowed)
In retrospect, George felt that he was better off without Maria and Cass. He was going through enough crud of his own without having to sift through someone else's putrid filth. If Maria was going to go nuts, then he had no obligations whatsoever to deal with it. Given how quickly people were dying on this island, he knew that he didn't have much time to find Sebastian before he killed somebody or was killed himself. The first would be terrible. The second...kind of 'meh,' actually. Yes, 'meh' was the right word for it. Carly needed to be avenged, certainly, but if someone else got it into their little heads to do it for George, then that was fine by him. Just so long as Sebastian didn't make it off this island alive.
Vengeance was a harsh thing to think about, really. George had never been one to commit to much of anything in his life, and having a specific goal was a bit of a change of pace. He wasn't sure that he really enjoyed the thought of murdering somebody, and the more he walked around dragging a chair behind him, the more apparent it came that he just wasn't the murdering type. Avenging, certainly, that was something he could do. But murder? Barring the standard moral issues behind the taking of a human life, killing somebody was probably a lot harder than they made it seem in the movies. Targeting people outright was far too much effort for not enough payoff.
And so it was that when George came across Remy Kim, looking into a pond, he just casually approached him, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto the wooden chair that was scratching against the ground. He'd considered turning the chair into some wooden stakes, but had realized upon looking at it that it would be suitable enough the way it was. It wasn't really that heavy, just a little tedious to carry around.
As George came closer, he saw something metal in the man's hand. Though he craned his head to get a better look, he was a tad too late, as Remy had already stowed the metal thingie away. George's guess was that it was a knife of some kind. That was fine. A chair was longer than a knife, so he only had to keep the guy from closing in. Simple, eh?
"Yo!" he called out, stopping a short distance away and planting the chair on the ground. "You wouldn't have seen Sebastian Descartes around lately, would you have? My friend here has an appointment with his face." He flashed the fellow a bit of a grin, which, given that he was still caked over with dirt and all scraped up still, wasn't really that comforting.
In retrospect, George felt that he was better off without Maria and Cass. He was going through enough crud of his own without having to sift through someone else's putrid filth. If Maria was going to go nuts, then he had no obligations whatsoever to deal with it. Given how quickly people were dying on this island, he knew that he didn't have much time to find Sebastian before he killed somebody or was killed himself. The first would be terrible. The second...kind of 'meh,' actually. Yes, 'meh' was the right word for it. Carly needed to be avenged, certainly, but if someone else got it into their little heads to do it for George, then that was fine by him. Just so long as Sebastian didn't make it off this island alive.
Vengeance was a harsh thing to think about, really. George had never been one to commit to much of anything in his life, and having a specific goal was a bit of a change of pace. He wasn't sure that he really enjoyed the thought of murdering somebody, and the more he walked around dragging a chair behind him, the more apparent it came that he just wasn't the murdering type. Avenging, certainly, that was something he could do. But murder? Barring the standard moral issues behind the taking of a human life, killing somebody was probably a lot harder than they made it seem in the movies. Targeting people outright was far too much effort for not enough payoff.
And so it was that when George came across Remy Kim, looking into a pond, he just casually approached him, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto the wooden chair that was scratching against the ground. He'd considered turning the chair into some wooden stakes, but had realized upon looking at it that it would be suitable enough the way it was. It wasn't really that heavy, just a little tedious to carry around.
As George came closer, he saw something metal in the man's hand. Though he craned his head to get a better look, he was a tad too late, as Remy had already stowed the metal thingie away. George's guess was that it was a knife of some kind. That was fine. A chair was longer than a knife, so he only had to keep the guy from closing in. Simple, eh?
"Yo!" he called out, stopping a short distance away and planting the chair on the ground. "You wouldn't have seen Sebastian Descartes around lately, would you have? My friend here has an appointment with his face." He flashed the fellow a bit of a grin, which, given that he was still caked over with dirt and all scraped up still, wasn't really that comforting.
[[Gloria Benson continued from No Crying Allowed ]]
On their way to...Gloria looked up from her feet, glancing around at their current location...to the road here, she hadn't let go of Michael's sleeve. She shouldn't, she told herself. She'd only played a tiny bit of games, but...wasn't there one where the person leading the other had to remain connected to them in some way? What was it called again, Ice? Something like that? But that game had a point, Gloria told herself, you had to remain connected in some way when on a perilous journey such as this, so you wouldn't get separated. And if they were separated, then...that'd be bad. Two was better than one. They were a team, right? A little team.
Suddenly realizing she'd probably been dragging him along and he might not've liked that, Gloria stopped walking, slowly and carefully pulling her hand away from his arm. "S-sorry...." she whispered, face burning. Oh, what if she'd made him feel like a baby? You shouldn't do that! she scolded herself. "Y-You probab-bably didn't...didn't like that..." she whispered, kicking at the ground with the toe of one of her boots. Then she just stood there a few moments, eyes on the ground, trying to think of something else to say. Something to make this less awkward.
Her mind flashed back to the claws Michael had had in the residential area. Now that they were out of danger (sort of. Out of immediate danger of being shot, at least), she could appreciate them a bit now. Claws...claws looked cool. And..."Y-You got a g-g-good weapon," she offered shyly, starting to walk, slowly, again. She looked up from her feet and at Michael again. "B-Because...because they d-don't run o-out, a-and you d-d-on't need to r-reload or...o-or things."
On their way to...Gloria looked up from her feet, glancing around at their current location...to the road here, she hadn't let go of Michael's sleeve. She shouldn't, she told herself. She'd only played a tiny bit of games, but...wasn't there one where the person leading the other had to remain connected to them in some way? What was it called again, Ice? Something like that? But that game had a point, Gloria told herself, you had to remain connected in some way when on a perilous journey such as this, so you wouldn't get separated. And if they were separated, then...that'd be bad. Two was better than one. They were a team, right? A little team.
Suddenly realizing she'd probably been dragging him along and he might not've liked that, Gloria stopped walking, slowly and carefully pulling her hand away from his arm. "S-sorry...." she whispered, face burning. Oh, what if she'd made him feel like a baby? You shouldn't do that! she scolded herself. "Y-You probab-bably didn't...didn't like that..." she whispered, kicking at the ground with the toe of one of her boots. Then she just stood there a few moments, eyes on the ground, trying to think of something else to say. Something to make this less awkward.
Her mind flashed back to the claws Michael had had in the residential area. Now that they were out of danger (sort of. Out of immediate danger of being shot, at least), she could appreciate them a bit now. Claws...claws looked cool. And..."Y-You got a g-g-good weapon," she offered shyly, starting to walk, slowly, again. She looked up from her feet and at Michael again. "B-Because...because they d-don't run o-out, a-and you d-d-on't need to r-reload or...o-or things."
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Okay, what was happening now?
Remy spun around to see... a guy with a chair? What the hell? What was he doing with that thing? Apparently... he was going to smash someone over the head with it? Wrestling style?
And WHAT. More people were coming in. Why were they crowding around him? And asking about someone named Sebastian? Seriously, he was surprised that he didn't hear the people crowding around him, including one dragging a chair behind him.
What the hell were they doing, sneaking up on him like that? It reeked of bad news, that was what it was. Seriously, he could see it now; all the arms grabbing him, thrusting that chair over his head until he was unable to stand, and then... and then...doing god knows what else. It made him feel ill to his stomach. That was probably what they were planning. Sebastian was just a ruse. A ruse. Just them trying to get his attention, so he would be fully aware of them and distracted. Like a serial killer asking his victim for the time before he abducted and killed them.
That had to be it! They were plotting something. Something that would hurt him. Something that would end his life.
He had to defend it. He wasn't going to get killed by some crowd of psychos. One was bad enough. One psycho with a sawblade? One psycho who saw rabbits? That was enough for him. But a slow group starting to form? Oh hell. What if this Death person Cisco talked about sent an entire army after him? An entire fucking army. Jesus Christ almighty. He wouldn't put it past him, though.
Remy stood up. Oh god, he felt ill. He was never a people person to begin with, and with this whole homicidal maniac business, yeah. He could feel bile rising up in his throat already. Oh god, why were they there people appearing on the bridge? Why here and now? Remy's face briefly turned green for a few seconds.
"No... I have not seen anyone named Sebastian..." Remy started unsteadily, and suddenly took out the knife again and flipped it open. "But what do you want? What... what are you doing here?"
Oh god, he was even having trouble breathing right now.
Remy spun around to see... a guy with a chair? What the hell? What was he doing with that thing? Apparently... he was going to smash someone over the head with it? Wrestling style?
And WHAT. More people were coming in. Why were they crowding around him? And asking about someone named Sebastian? Seriously, he was surprised that he didn't hear the people crowding around him, including one dragging a chair behind him.
What the hell were they doing, sneaking up on him like that? It reeked of bad news, that was what it was. Seriously, he could see it now; all the arms grabbing him, thrusting that chair over his head until he was unable to stand, and then... and then...doing god knows what else. It made him feel ill to his stomach. That was probably what they were planning. Sebastian was just a ruse. A ruse. Just them trying to get his attention, so he would be fully aware of them and distracted. Like a serial killer asking his victim for the time before he abducted and killed them.
That had to be it! They were plotting something. Something that would hurt him. Something that would end his life.
He had to defend it. He wasn't going to get killed by some crowd of psychos. One was bad enough. One psycho with a sawblade? One psycho who saw rabbits? That was enough for him. But a slow group starting to form? Oh hell. What if this Death person Cisco talked about sent an entire army after him? An entire fucking army. Jesus Christ almighty. He wouldn't put it past him, though.
Remy stood up. Oh god, he felt ill. He was never a people person to begin with, and with this whole homicidal maniac business, yeah. He could feel bile rising up in his throat already. Oh god, why were they there people appearing on the bridge? Why here and now? Remy's face briefly turned green for a few seconds.
"No... I have not seen anyone named Sebastian..." Remy started unsteadily, and suddenly took out the knife again and flipped it open. "But what do you want? What... what are you doing here?"
Oh god, he was even having trouble breathing right now.
Man, somebody was on edge today. George supposed that it was weirder that he wasn't on edge, but at the same time, he was having trouble sympathizing with the fellow holding a knife on him. Whatever shit this kid had gone through to make him like this was probably incomparable to what he himself had seen. The fact that he was pulling a knife on a guy who had just casually greeted him wasn't gaining him any points either. Perhaps it was just that George was made of sterner stuff, and this kid had caved under the pressure, and THAT was what had turned him into a gibbering idiot. It seemed like the most logical conclusion.
"Listen kid, I'm gonna have to ask you to put away that knife," he said. "Not that I think you'd beat me in a fight, but I'm not comfortable talking to someone who's got a weapon out." To accentuate the point, George set the chair down sideways on the ground. "As for why I'm here...eh, just passing through. And the sooner you calm down and stop acting like an idiot, the sooner I can leave."
Turning slightly, George noticed that more people were coming up the path. He'd seen them before, back in the residential area, but he'd walked on by. Were they following him specifically, or was this just a strange coincidence? Either way, this wasn't likely to result in anything good, especially if Remy was scared enough of just him. Things could get ugly really quickly. And so, while George didn't immediately pick his gun up, he did step to the side so that he could pick up his chair at a moment's notice. He wasn't going to start attacking folks just for seeming suspicious, unlike some people, but he wasn't going to be stupid either.
"Listen kid, I'm gonna have to ask you to put away that knife," he said. "Not that I think you'd beat me in a fight, but I'm not comfortable talking to someone who's got a weapon out." To accentuate the point, George set the chair down sideways on the ground. "As for why I'm here...eh, just passing through. And the sooner you calm down and stop acting like an idiot, the sooner I can leave."
Turning slightly, George noticed that more people were coming up the path. He'd seen them before, back in the residential area, but he'd walked on by. Were they following him specifically, or was this just a strange coincidence? Either way, this wasn't likely to result in anything good, especially if Remy was scared enough of just him. Things could get ugly really quickly. And so, while George didn't immediately pick his gun up, he did step to the side so that he could pick up his chair at a moment's notice. He wasn't going to start attacking folks just for seeming suspicious, unlike some people, but he wasn't going to be stupid either.
She could hear voices up ahead. Gloria's head snapped up, her eyes going wider as her blood turned to ice. O-Oh God...
Wow, she was so scared that even her inner-dialogue was stuttering. Impressive.
Her hand tightened around the gun as she stared ahead, looking for shapes or shadows. She couldn't make out the words, but the tones sounded...aggressive. Angry.
Gloria shivered involuntarily--an old, familiar feeling was creeping over her, like what she'd felt that morning when she left for school a few years ago. The feeling that stayed with her all the first half of the day, finally exploding and making her cry when she was called to the principal's office. Something bad'll happen---something very, very bad. "Michael," she whispered. "W-We should go..." She began to walk again--slower than last time, so as not to make noise--and her foot came down on a twig, making it snap loudly. She froze again, hardly daring to breathe--and then without thinking, lifted the gun up, aiming at nothing in particular--just a tree, really, aimed for the center of a tree--hoping that whoever it was out there angry, they'd see her gun and...
And leave them alone.
Wow, she was so scared that even her inner-dialogue was stuttering. Impressive.
Her hand tightened around the gun as she stared ahead, looking for shapes or shadows. She couldn't make out the words, but the tones sounded...aggressive. Angry.
Gloria shivered involuntarily--an old, familiar feeling was creeping over her, like what she'd felt that morning when she left for school a few years ago. The feeling that stayed with her all the first half of the day, finally exploding and making her cry when she was called to the principal's office. Something bad'll happen---something very, very bad. "Michael," she whispered. "W-We should go..." She began to walk again--slower than last time, so as not to make noise--and her foot came down on a twig, making it snap loudly. She froze again, hardly daring to breathe--and then without thinking, lifted the gun up, aiming at nothing in particular--just a tree, really, aimed for the center of a tree--hoping that whoever it was out there angry, they'd see her gun and...
And leave them alone.
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Sister Grimm†
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[[Micheal Raynor continued from No Crying Allowed ]]
Micheal preferred not to think of the rapid relocation from the residential area to the logging road as a retreat and more of an advance in a different direction. Sure, they were technically fleeing, but it wasn't really...he'd a point in there somewhere, he was sure. What it was, well, the world may never know. Anyway, they had left the residential area in a hurry and where now heading, uh, somewhere else. Well, at the time, all he really wanted from a new place was not having to worry about a guy with a gun. You know him, a connoisseur of the simple things.
Judging by how they stopped on the logging road, this was to be there destination. Not to complain, but Micheal was hoping for something more...more. Someplace with much more muchiness.
Well, no one was currently shooting at anyone, so muchiness or no, it was an improvement. Especially considering that his claws would probably do frak and all against another person. Not that he particularly wanted to try them out, but it was a practical concern. Well, Gloria was armed. So, that was good. Unless someone saw her gun and took it as a threat. Which wouldn't be good. Or if someone saw his claws and took that as a threat, which would be considerably worse.
Fortunately for his state of calm, Gloria caught his attention by speaking up for the first time since they left the town. He arched an eyebrow, trying to think of what she could be apologizing for before she answered the question for him. He waved her fears away, offering a wry grin. If it wasn't for you holding my sleeve, I'd have probably freaked out and ran into a tree."
When her attention turned to his Wolverine claws, he held them up so she could see them better. While he held them up, he did his best Vanna White impression and turned the blades back and forth while an imaginary audience oohed and awed. He flashed another good natured grin. "That's right. While they're reloading after shooting me a bunch, I can walk right up to them." Micheal paused, arching his eyebrow. "Since these are Wolverine claws, they do come with an enhanced healing factor, right?"
Any other plans he might have had for putting her at ease were cut short by voices ahead of them. "Amen to that." He agreed. "Maybe leave before they start shooting this time, yeah?" Micheal looked around them, half expecting to see someone trying to creep up behind them. When he looked back, Gloria had her gun up, pointed in the general direction the voices were coming from. Micheal took a cautious step back, more of a self-preservation then fear. People with guns did tend to attracrt bullets. He was certainly hoping it didn't come to that, but you didn't reach the next level by taking needless risks.
Micheal spoke to her in a harsh whisper, glancing toward the direction the voices were coming from and mindful that they didn't attract any attention. "Uh, maybe we can put the gun down? I mean, that's the sort of thing that draws aggro. How about you just lower that gun and we go back the way we came? You know, away from other people?"
Micheal preferred not to think of the rapid relocation from the residential area to the logging road as a retreat and more of an advance in a different direction. Sure, they were technically fleeing, but it wasn't really...he'd a point in there somewhere, he was sure. What it was, well, the world may never know. Anyway, they had left the residential area in a hurry and where now heading, uh, somewhere else. Well, at the time, all he really wanted from a new place was not having to worry about a guy with a gun. You know him, a connoisseur of the simple things.
Judging by how they stopped on the logging road, this was to be there destination. Not to complain, but Micheal was hoping for something more...more. Someplace with much more muchiness.
Well, no one was currently shooting at anyone, so muchiness or no, it was an improvement. Especially considering that his claws would probably do frak and all against another person. Not that he particularly wanted to try them out, but it was a practical concern. Well, Gloria was armed. So, that was good. Unless someone saw her gun and took it as a threat. Which wouldn't be good. Or if someone saw his claws and took that as a threat, which would be considerably worse.
Fortunately for his state of calm, Gloria caught his attention by speaking up for the first time since they left the town. He arched an eyebrow, trying to think of what she could be apologizing for before she answered the question for him. He waved her fears away, offering a wry grin. If it wasn't for you holding my sleeve, I'd have probably freaked out and ran into a tree."
When her attention turned to his Wolverine claws, he held them up so she could see them better. While he held them up, he did his best Vanna White impression and turned the blades back and forth while an imaginary audience oohed and awed. He flashed another good natured grin. "That's right. While they're reloading after shooting me a bunch, I can walk right up to them." Micheal paused, arching his eyebrow. "Since these are Wolverine claws, they do come with an enhanced healing factor, right?"
Any other plans he might have had for putting her at ease were cut short by voices ahead of them. "Amen to that." He agreed. "Maybe leave before they start shooting this time, yeah?" Micheal looked around them, half expecting to see someone trying to creep up behind them. When he looked back, Gloria had her gun up, pointed in the general direction the voices were coming from. Micheal took a cautious step back, more of a self-preservation then fear. People with guns did tend to attracrt bullets. He was certainly hoping it didn't come to that, but you didn't reach the next level by taking needless risks.
Micheal spoke to her in a harsh whisper, glancing toward the direction the voices were coming from and mindful that they didn't attract any attention. "Uh, maybe we can put the gun down? I mean, that's the sort of thing that draws aggro. How about you just lower that gun and we go back the way we came? You know, away from other people?"
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She flinched, looking back at Michael as he spoke to her, then to the gun. "S-Sorry...'m sorry..." she whispered, lowering the weapon. Her hand holding the gun went to her side, dangling limply. "Sorry...." she repeated.
What'd she do that for? Granted she hadn't meant to hit anyone, just scare them if someone came towards them with ill intent, but...but the simple fact was that she'd actually held the gun up and aimed in the general direction of the voices, where their classmates were. "M not...not wanting t-to hurt s-s-someone," she whispered, turning around to walk again, glancing nervously into the trees. "P-Please bel-l-lieve me, I j-just...j-just aimed at a t-t-tree," she whispered weakly.
He might not believe that... she told herself sadly.
"B-But...the way w-we came? Turn around?" she asked, making sure she'd understood that right. "B-Back to...t-to the place w-with the h-h-houses?" But someone had a machine gun back there! What if they hadn't gone far from there at all and had just hidden in a house? "W-What if...they're th-there?" she asked.
What'd she do that for? Granted she hadn't meant to hit anyone, just scare them if someone came towards them with ill intent, but...but the simple fact was that she'd actually held the gun up and aimed in the general direction of the voices, where their classmates were. "M not...not wanting t-to hurt s-s-someone," she whispered, turning around to walk again, glancing nervously into the trees. "P-Please bel-l-lieve me, I j-just...j-just aimed at a t-t-tree," she whispered weakly.
He might not believe that... she told herself sadly.
"B-But...the way w-we came? Turn around?" she asked, making sure she'd understood that right. "B-Back to...t-to the place w-with the h-h-houses?" But someone had a machine gun back there! What if they hadn't gone far from there at all and had just hidden in a house? "W-What if...they're th-there?" she asked.
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((Eep, so sorry!))
Put the knife down?
Put the knife... down?!
And what? He would smack him over the head with a chair? Really. He didn't want that chair to be smacked over his head WWA style or something. Jesus. He was doing nothing to make Remy calm down. He was just sitting here, insulting him, and basically saying that he didn't stand a chance against him and calling him an idiot! Who did he think he was? Well, all psychos felt that they had that right to kill whoever they wanted.
Remy scowled. So this was it, then? Some psycho was telling him to put the knife down, even though he had encountered other psychos before including a guy who had thrown a sawblade at a girl and one who attacked him and saw rabbits. Of course he was going to be on edge, especially if there's a guy dragging around a chair and more people clearly coming in with god knows what. If it was something that could kill someone in five seconds, he was going to be fucked. No way a tiny little knife could defend him against something like a claymore.
"Look. I had already ran into one weirdo today. I don't need to encounter another" he spat, fuming. "I don't want to put the knife down. You and those other people are probably going to do something for all I know."
But before he could say anything else....
Remy let out a cry as a gunshot rang out, dropping his knife in the process. Oh god, what just happened? His arm... he instinctively grabbed it. His shoulder was getting wet... and it hurt... they shot him. They shot him and they were trying to kill him and they were ganging up on him and they were probably going for him specifically and-
Remy found himself crying, his tears running down his face. It hurt so much. And he was losing so much blood. Already he was starting to feel dizzy. Sure, as an athlete he was used to getting injured. But nothing like a gunshot wound. And they were probably going to swoop in to finish the job. That's what killers did. They would toy with him a bit before they finished him off.
He couldn't focus well right now, and the blood was leaking through the fabric of his jacket.
But... he wouldn't let them finish him off, right? Plus, they had to pay for that one.
So he had to find the knife, even in his state. Simply had to.
Put the knife down?
Put the knife... down?!
And what? He would smack him over the head with a chair? Really. He didn't want that chair to be smacked over his head WWA style or something. Jesus. He was doing nothing to make Remy calm down. He was just sitting here, insulting him, and basically saying that he didn't stand a chance against him and calling him an idiot! Who did he think he was? Well, all psychos felt that they had that right to kill whoever they wanted.
Remy scowled. So this was it, then? Some psycho was telling him to put the knife down, even though he had encountered other psychos before including a guy who had thrown a sawblade at a girl and one who attacked him and saw rabbits. Of course he was going to be on edge, especially if there's a guy dragging around a chair and more people clearly coming in with god knows what. If it was something that could kill someone in five seconds, he was going to be fucked. No way a tiny little knife could defend him against something like a claymore.
"Look. I had already ran into one weirdo today. I don't need to encounter another" he spat, fuming. "I don't want to put the knife down. You and those other people are probably going to do something for all I know."
But before he could say anything else....
Remy let out a cry as a gunshot rang out, dropping his knife in the process. Oh god, what just happened? His arm... he instinctively grabbed it. His shoulder was getting wet... and it hurt... they shot him. They shot him and they were trying to kill him and they were ganging up on him and they were probably going for him specifically and-
Remy found himself crying, his tears running down his face. It hurt so much. And he was losing so much blood. Already he was starting to feel dizzy. Sure, as an athlete he was used to getting injured. But nothing like a gunshot wound. And they were probably going to swoop in to finish the job. That's what killers did. They would toy with him a bit before they finished him off.
He couldn't focus well right now, and the blood was leaking through the fabric of his jacket.
But... he wouldn't let them finish him off, right? Plus, they had to pay for that one.
So he had to find the knife, even in his state. Simply had to.
From where George was standing, the newcomers' approach wasn't hard to miss. There were two of them, and they looked nervous as could be. Evidently though, George and Remy hadn't been nearly as visible, seeing as the girl in the duo had apparently been startled by stepping on a twig, as if that had somehow given the two of them away.
He supposed he couldn't entirely fault her for being startled though, given the tenseness of the situation, but what he could fault her for was drawing a gun and apparently firing it, though he didn't see it go off from his perspective. George flinched back, expecting to die right then and there, but the cry of pain behind him was a good indicator of the bullet's true destination. Turning, he saw the results with his own eyes. This man who he had just met had been shot, and as George turned back towards the shooter, he saw that the gun was still waving in the air. The girl's friend was talking her down, trying to get her to lower her gun, and he apparently was succeeding.
Good for him. That'll make this easier.
George had been going through a lot of shit lately. He'd been degraded and insulted at every turn, a psycho had killed his girlfriend, he'd been tossed down a steep hill, and now someone with an itchy trigger finger was throwing bullets his way. All things considered, it was a wonder that he hadn't gotten to this stage sooner. Raising the chair above his head just as the girl's arm dropped to her side, he charged the short distance between them and swung that chair out with as much force as he could muster. Who cared if the guy fought to defend his friend? George could take him. He needed someone to take his frustrations out on anyway.
There goes any honor I ever had...Eh, who cares?
He supposed he couldn't entirely fault her for being startled though, given the tenseness of the situation, but what he could fault her for was drawing a gun and apparently firing it, though he didn't see it go off from his perspective. George flinched back, expecting to die right then and there, but the cry of pain behind him was a good indicator of the bullet's true destination. Turning, he saw the results with his own eyes. This man who he had just met had been shot, and as George turned back towards the shooter, he saw that the gun was still waving in the air. The girl's friend was talking her down, trying to get her to lower her gun, and he apparently was succeeding.
Good for him. That'll make this easier.
George had been going through a lot of shit lately. He'd been degraded and insulted at every turn, a psycho had killed his girlfriend, he'd been tossed down a steep hill, and now someone with an itchy trigger finger was throwing bullets his way. All things considered, it was a wonder that he hadn't gotten to this stage sooner. Raising the chair above his head just as the girl's arm dropped to her side, he charged the short distance between them and swung that chair out with as much force as he could muster. Who cared if the guy fought to defend his friend? George could take him. He needed someone to take his frustrations out on anyway.
There goes any honor I ever had...Eh, who cares?
-
Sister Grimm†
- Posts: 172
- Joined: Sun Sep 02, 2018 6:38 am
Micheal offered Gloria a small smile. You know, comforting. She was twitchy, twitchier then normal. The whole, pointing a gun thing and all. He needed to talk her down. Make her do the not pointing a gun at people thing. They might go and get the wrong impression if they saw that. Like the impression that someone was going to get shot. Which, you know, fair point reaching that particular conclusion. Gun and all. Which was why it would serve everyone if she put it away.
"Don't be sorry. Just, you know, be careful, yeah?" He looked toward the other group then back to his surroundings. Not back they way they came, then, And not forward. Which...limited choices some. But that was okay. Adaptability was key, right? Forward and back weren't options, but they could just head east or west. Anywhere but here. Judging by the shouting, sticking around was probably bad for his health.
And, as if to prove his point, some guy comes charging out of nowhere with a chair. A chair! Well, also, probably not nowhere. If he was paying attention, he probably would have noticed. But he wasn't, so he didn't. So he was caught completely unaware as a chair started flying around in his immediate personal space. Which, in case it wasn't obvious, was very bad.
His immediate instinct was to move, and for lack of anything better, it was the instinct he followed. Micheal ducked off to the side, holding his free hand up to his face in a warding gesture. For a second, he forgot about Gloria as he tried to get clear. The possibility that Gloria was the target was so ridiculous that he didn't think it warranted much thought anyway. So, he ducked away under the impression that he should expect a chair to smack him in the head any second.
It belatedly occurred to him that he armed. At the same time it occurred to him that if he looked toward the assailant, he'd be hit in the face. He arrived at the compromise of slashing out blindly with the Wolverine claws. In his mind, he was the very image of a blind warrior. In reality, he was flailing about like an idiot.
"Don't be sorry. Just, you know, be careful, yeah?" He looked toward the other group then back to his surroundings. Not back they way they came, then, And not forward. Which...limited choices some. But that was okay. Adaptability was key, right? Forward and back weren't options, but they could just head east or west. Anywhere but here. Judging by the shouting, sticking around was probably bad for his health.
And, as if to prove his point, some guy comes charging out of nowhere with a chair. A chair! Well, also, probably not nowhere. If he was paying attention, he probably would have noticed. But he wasn't, so he didn't. So he was caught completely unaware as a chair started flying around in his immediate personal space. Which, in case it wasn't obvious, was very bad.
His immediate instinct was to move, and for lack of anything better, it was the instinct he followed. Micheal ducked off to the side, holding his free hand up to his face in a warding gesture. For a second, he forgot about Gloria as he tried to get clear. The possibility that Gloria was the target was so ridiculous that he didn't think it warranted much thought anyway. So, he ducked away under the impression that he should expect a chair to smack him in the head any second.
It belatedly occurred to him that he armed. At the same time it occurred to him that if he looked toward the assailant, he'd be hit in the face. He arrived at the compromise of slashing out blindly with the Wolverine claws. In his mind, he was the very image of a blind warrior. In reality, he was flailing about like an idiot.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the former handler Sister Grimm.
[[Brief GMing permitted by KamiKaze]]
Gloria tried to smile--getting a pretty shaky, twitching one because she was crying, but it was a smile. Michael was smiling at her, so it was right to smile back, right? "Y-Yeah, o...okay...c-c-areful..." she whispered, nodding as she wiped her face again.
She didn't even have time to react, really. One moment, she'd taken a step forward, intent on following Michael--it was time to switch leaders, she supposed. No sense in having the leader be weeping and aiming guns at everything--and then there was the rustling.
Bushes rustling.
A few twigs snapped in rapid succession.
Someone ran out onto the road where they were, looking more like a blur than anything.
Gloria looked up.
THWACK!
Gloria let out a quick, short cry as there was a horrible pain at the side of her head. The pain didn't even last for too long, actually--right after impact, Gloria felt like half her face had gone numb, and she was afraid to move her jaw, fearing it might be stuck, dislocated, broken...She fell to the ground, half screaming half gasping as she lifted her non-gun hand to where she'd been hit, tears streaming even faster down her face now.
"A-Aaah! St-s-s-sta...l-lea'me...!" she tried to cry out, words and sentences being jumbled and mixed up, her stutter suddenly getting worse. Her hand tightened around the gun--it was honestly a miracle she hadn't let go of it--and she tried to crawl forward, get away from the crazy guy with the chair, get to Michael, he had a weapon on him that didn't need to be properly-aimed right, he could help her, he had to--
Someone else ran out just then, and Gloria briefly saw a flash of metal in their hand. She didn't know who he was coming to protect--her or the chair-guy. Shaking and choking on her sobs, Gloria looked up in time to recognize the face--That's Remy, we saw each other in hallways a few times, I heard people say his name once or twice--and then there was another searing pain in her arm.
She screamed again, shaking the arm that the knife was embedded in, in a desperate and stupid attempt to get it out. The knife was pulled out by its owner, thank God, but what if he stabbed her again she didn't want to die oh God what had she ever done to deserve this and now her arm was bleeding and her head was numb and it hurt it hurt it hurt she was scaredscaredscared...
"H-H-HEL-ELP M-M-MEEEE!" she wailed, her whole face wet with tears, saliva, snot...she looked a mess but she didn't care about that right now. Who could in a time like this? Still on the ground, she pulled the gun closer to herself by accident as she tried to crawl/drag herself away from these people. "D-D-DAAAD!" she sobbed.
Gloria tried to smile--getting a pretty shaky, twitching one because she was crying, but it was a smile. Michael was smiling at her, so it was right to smile back, right? "Y-Yeah, o...okay...c-c-areful..." she whispered, nodding as she wiped her face again.
She didn't even have time to react, really. One moment, she'd taken a step forward, intent on following Michael--it was time to switch leaders, she supposed. No sense in having the leader be weeping and aiming guns at everything--and then there was the rustling.
Bushes rustling.
A few twigs snapped in rapid succession.
Someone ran out onto the road where they were, looking more like a blur than anything.
Gloria looked up.
THWACK!
Gloria let out a quick, short cry as there was a horrible pain at the side of her head. The pain didn't even last for too long, actually--right after impact, Gloria felt like half her face had gone numb, and she was afraid to move her jaw, fearing it might be stuck, dislocated, broken...She fell to the ground, half screaming half gasping as she lifted her non-gun hand to where she'd been hit, tears streaming even faster down her face now.
"A-Aaah! St-s-s-sta...l-lea'me...!" she tried to cry out, words and sentences being jumbled and mixed up, her stutter suddenly getting worse. Her hand tightened around the gun--it was honestly a miracle she hadn't let go of it--and she tried to crawl forward, get away from the crazy guy with the chair, get to Michael, he had a weapon on him that didn't need to be properly-aimed right, he could help her, he had to--
Someone else ran out just then, and Gloria briefly saw a flash of metal in their hand. She didn't know who he was coming to protect--her or the chair-guy. Shaking and choking on her sobs, Gloria looked up in time to recognize the face--That's Remy, we saw each other in hallways a few times, I heard people say his name once or twice--and then there was another searing pain in her arm.
She screamed again, shaking the arm that the knife was embedded in, in a desperate and stupid attempt to get it out. The knife was pulled out by its owner, thank God, but what if he stabbed her again she didn't want to die oh God what had she ever done to deserve this and now her arm was bleeding and her head was numb and it hurt it hurt it hurt she was scaredscaredscared...
"H-H-HEL-ELP M-M-MEEEE!" she wailed, her whole face wet with tears, saliva, snot...she looked a mess but she didn't care about that right now. Who could in a time like this? Still on the ground, she pulled the gun closer to herself by accident as she tried to crawl/drag herself away from these people. "D-D-DAAAD!" she sobbed.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Moth. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
((Sarah Tan continues from Keep on Smiling))
Sarah didn't know how long she'd been running. She knew it was a ridiculous course of action, and she knew she should have thought it over, but...Nick Reid was a killer. If she wanted to live, if she wanted Stacy, and Sapphire, and Harun, and Rashid and...and everyone to live, she had to get out of there.
But...she didn't know if they were following her. Oh dear, had she just abandoned them? No, they wouldn't have just stayed there, would they? Stacy, she was following, right?...right?
Eventually, Sarah stopped. It must have been a well long time ago since she saw Nick Reid. He was a really thin boy, and even though she was short, she could run faster than him. That was a definite. Sarah's little legs were still pumping though, and she just needed to sit down before they busted from just standing up, just on this small bridge.
But even that she had no time for. Someone was crying, somewhere.
Sarah couldn't let that happen, someone was hurt! She needed to help them! Now!
She surveyed the area, and...
...oh my word, it's...Remy!
In her wildest dreams, there were people she really never thought she'd see again. Some of them were still alive, but...she didn't know how they'd react if they saw her. Especially Hayley. But...Remy...Remy, of all people, she had to make sure he was okay.
She ran towards him, throwing all caution to the wind.
"REMY! Remy, it's me! Sarah!" she shouted towards him, while trying to run across the road. But as she got closer, Sarah realised why she was running towards something she had no right to be in. 4 people. 2 of them she knew, and the other two were...oh no...
George, the boy she mentally blocked out from the Warehouses all those days ago. He'd...there was a girl on the ground, her name was Gloria, she'd often see her at the library. She was on the ground, in pain, with a-a knife in her arm!
What? Who-who did that!? I-If she lets me, I-I might be able to fix her up, but...who did that? Was it one of those other boys?
There was another boy there. His name, it didn't mean anything, because right now, Sarah was looking at Remy's hands. In them was a gun. And he had it aimed right at the small girl on the ground.
Her run came to a stop, almost a complete halt, and her mouth was left slightly open in shock.
"...Remy? What's...what's going on Remy?" Sarah asked. She really had a reason to be afraid now.
Sarah didn't know how long she'd been running. She knew it was a ridiculous course of action, and she knew she should have thought it over, but...Nick Reid was a killer. If she wanted to live, if she wanted Stacy, and Sapphire, and Harun, and Rashid and...and everyone to live, she had to get out of there.
But...she didn't know if they were following her. Oh dear, had she just abandoned them? No, they wouldn't have just stayed there, would they? Stacy, she was following, right?...right?
Eventually, Sarah stopped. It must have been a well long time ago since she saw Nick Reid. He was a really thin boy, and even though she was short, she could run faster than him. That was a definite. Sarah's little legs were still pumping though, and she just needed to sit down before they busted from just standing up, just on this small bridge.
But even that she had no time for. Someone was crying, somewhere.
Sarah couldn't let that happen, someone was hurt! She needed to help them! Now!
She surveyed the area, and...
...oh my word, it's...Remy!
In her wildest dreams, there were people she really never thought she'd see again. Some of them were still alive, but...she didn't know how they'd react if they saw her. Especially Hayley. But...Remy...Remy, of all people, she had to make sure he was okay.
She ran towards him, throwing all caution to the wind.
"REMY! Remy, it's me! Sarah!" she shouted towards him, while trying to run across the road. But as she got closer, Sarah realised why she was running towards something she had no right to be in. 4 people. 2 of them she knew, and the other two were...oh no...
George, the boy she mentally blocked out from the Warehouses all those days ago. He'd...there was a girl on the ground, her name was Gloria, she'd often see her at the library. She was on the ground, in pain, with a-a knife in her arm!
What? Who-who did that!? I-If she lets me, I-I might be able to fix her up, but...who did that? Was it one of those other boys?
There was another boy there. His name, it didn't mean anything, because right now, Sarah was looking at Remy's hands. In them was a gun. And he had it aimed right at the small girl on the ground.
Her run came to a stop, almost a complete halt, and her mouth was left slightly open in shock.
"...Remy? What's...what's going on Remy?" Sarah asked. She really had a reason to be afraid now.
((Stacy Hart continued from Keep on Smiling))
Stacy was a fast runner, and had taken after Sarah only moments after she noticed her start to run. She caught up fairly quickly, but not quickly enough. Sarah had managed to run into a very messy situation and now Stacy was there too. Unless this got diffused quickly at least one of them was going to die there. For a moment she tried to think of the words to say, but there weren't any. This was The Game, and the clock was running.
"Sarah, get back!"
She raised her gun and tried to figure out who to aim at. Everybody had something that could be potentially deadly, or very harmful, and she honestly had no idea who had started what. All she knew was that she was there to rescue her friend. And that's exactly what she was going to do, no matter what happened.
Stacy was a fast runner, and had taken after Sarah only moments after she noticed her start to run. She caught up fairly quickly, but not quickly enough. Sarah had managed to run into a very messy situation and now Stacy was there too. Unless this got diffused quickly at least one of them was going to die there. For a moment she tried to think of the words to say, but there weren't any. This was The Game, and the clock was running.
"Sarah, get back!"
She raised her gun and tried to figure out who to aim at. Everybody had something that could be potentially deadly, or very harmful, and she honestly had no idea who had started what. All she knew was that she was there to rescue her friend. And that's exactly what she was going to do, no matter what happened.
This is an archival account used by staff to port posts belonging to the handler Zabriel. While this handler hasn't been around in quite a while, should they return and wish to take custody of this account and/or its posts, they are welcome to do so by contacting staff.
Pain.
Pain. Blood. Pain. Blood.
Remy fumbled on the ground, searching for the knife. Oh god, where was it? Where was it? Some a-hole had shot at him, and he didn't know what to do. Oh fuck. He needed it. He needed it to defend himself. And they were probably going for him again.
Ah. There it was. His hand trembling, both from fear, anger, and blood loss, he picked up the switchblade with his undamaged right arm, and looked up. The douchebag with the chair had ran forward towards one of the other people, a girl. That was... that was who had shot at him, right? And suddenly...
THWACK!
The chair connected to the girl's head, knocking her to the ground. Remy slowly lifted himself off the ground as he watched the scene. She was being smacked over the head repeatedly. And, despite all the pain and blood coming from his arm, he ran forward.
She shot at him. She tried to kill him. She shot him. She wanted to kill him.
And before he knew it, it happened.
Within the next minute, he had stuck his knife inside her arm. Remy, with a bit of difficulty, removed the knife. That bitch made a horrible screaming noise. Damn it, she was loud! And she was only going to attract more psychos, more people that would attack him. It was completely inhuman, completely animalistic... and that face she was making... oh god...
Of course, to Remy, thanks to the amount of anger, his paranoid delusions, the pain and bloodloss, and of course fear he had, it sounded and looked... wrong. But to anyone else, they would realize she was crying for help and was in serious amounts of pain.
He moved to bring the knife down, but-
Someone was saying his name.
Who was it? No, couldn't be that sister of his, couldn't be the girl he was stabbing, couldn't be chair douche... who... who was it...
Reika? It was her, wasn't it? No, wasn't Reika. Not Reiko or that sister of his, either.
Remy looked towards the girl, squinting to get a better look.
"Sa... rah?"
Sarah Tan. Sarah, who he had met that day in tenth grade, and watched as she got ill over the frogs. Sarah, who was always there. Sarah, who was his friend. Sarah Tan. She was here.
She was here. She had seen everything.
She had seen how he had been shot at, and how that girl was responsible for it. She had seen him stab that girl. She saw it all.
"Sarah... that girl... she attacked me... I'm bleeding... and I don't want to... so I fought back... already fought once..."
In some corner of his mind, he was aware that he was still crying, from the pain. Of course it would be from the pain. His left shoulder felt numb after being shot, and he was sure he wasn't able to move it much right now.
But what if Sarah was like everyone else? Fucking crazy, fucking batshit, only thinking of killing everyone else? To be honest, the last person he wanted to be crazy was Sarah. But she was here. He had no clue what she was up to. She was here. She could be anything by this point. Everyone else had gone batshit...
Pain. Blood. Pain. Blood.
Remy fumbled on the ground, searching for the knife. Oh god, where was it? Where was it? Some a-hole had shot at him, and he didn't know what to do. Oh fuck. He needed it. He needed it to defend himself. And they were probably going for him again.
Ah. There it was. His hand trembling, both from fear, anger, and blood loss, he picked up the switchblade with his undamaged right arm, and looked up. The douchebag with the chair had ran forward towards one of the other people, a girl. That was... that was who had shot at him, right? And suddenly...
THWACK!
The chair connected to the girl's head, knocking her to the ground. Remy slowly lifted himself off the ground as he watched the scene. She was being smacked over the head repeatedly. And, despite all the pain and blood coming from his arm, he ran forward.
She shot at him. She tried to kill him. She shot him. She wanted to kill him.
And before he knew it, it happened.
Within the next minute, he had stuck his knife inside her arm. Remy, with a bit of difficulty, removed the knife. That bitch made a horrible screaming noise. Damn it, she was loud! And she was only going to attract more psychos, more people that would attack him. It was completely inhuman, completely animalistic... and that face she was making... oh god...
Of course, to Remy, thanks to the amount of anger, his paranoid delusions, the pain and bloodloss, and of course fear he had, it sounded and looked... wrong. But to anyone else, they would realize she was crying for help and was in serious amounts of pain.
He moved to bring the knife down, but-
Someone was saying his name.
Who was it? No, couldn't be that sister of his, couldn't be the girl he was stabbing, couldn't be chair douche... who... who was it...
Reika? It was her, wasn't it? No, wasn't Reika. Not Reiko or that sister of his, either.
Remy looked towards the girl, squinting to get a better look.
"Sa... rah?"
Sarah Tan. Sarah, who he had met that day in tenth grade, and watched as she got ill over the frogs. Sarah, who was always there. Sarah, who was his friend. Sarah Tan. She was here.
She was here. She had seen everything.
She had seen how he had been shot at, and how that girl was responsible for it. She had seen him stab that girl. She saw it all.
"Sarah... that girl... she attacked me... I'm bleeding... and I don't want to... so I fought back... already fought once..."
In some corner of his mind, he was aware that he was still crying, from the pain. Of course it would be from the pain. His left shoulder felt numb after being shot, and he was sure he wasn't able to move it much right now.
But what if Sarah was like everyone else? Fucking crazy, fucking batshit, only thinking of killing everyone else? To be honest, the last person he wanted to be crazy was Sarah. But she was here. He had no clue what she was up to. She was here. She could be anything by this point. Everyone else had gone batshit...